“Five hundred’s my price,” said the seaman calmly, as he placed the belt about his waist and began to buckle it up.
“Seventy-five,” said the pawnbroker persuasively.
“Look here,” said the seaman, regarding him sternly, “you drop it. I’m not going to haggle with you. I’m not going to haggle with any man. I ain’t no judge o’ diamonds, but I’ve ’ad cause to know as this is something special. See here.”
He rolled back the coat sleeve from his brawny arm, and revealed a long, newly healed scar.
“I risked my life for that stone,” he said slowly. “I value my life at five hundred pounds. It’s likely worth more than as many thousands, and you know it. However, good-night to you, mate. How much for the tea?”
He put his hand contemptuously in his trouser pocket, and pulled out some small change.
“There’s the risk of getting rid of the stone,” said the pawnbroker, pushing aside the proffered coin. “Where did it come from? Has it got a history?”
“Not in Europe it ain’t,” said the seaman. “So far as I know, you an’ me an’ one other are the only white men as know of it. That’s all I’m going to tell you.”
“Do you mind waiting while I go and fetch a friend of mine to see it?” inquired the pawnbroker. “You needn’t be afraid,” he added hastily. “He’s a respectable man and as close as the grave.”
“I’m not afraid,” said the seaman quietly. “But no larks, mind. I’m not a nice man to play them on. I’m pretty strong, an’ I’ve got something else besides.”